What whitens on the greening peak?
Snows now, or swans in flock?
Snows away had long since melted;
Swans long since ta’en flight.
No snows are they, no swans are they,
but Hasan-aga’s tent.
Sick sore with bitter wounds he lies.
His dam and sister come;
his lady love for shame cannot.
Recovered of his wounds,
his loyal love he sends this doom:
In my white halls, stay not-
not in the hall, nor with my kin.
His meaning kenned, his dame,
distraught, stands wretched at the thought.
Hoofbeats surround the halls.
The aga’s wife takes breakneck flight
down windowed tower walls.
Two maiden daughters race behind:
Come back now, mother dear;
Our sire’s not come, but Pint’rovich
the bey, your mother’s son.
Then, Hasan-aga’s wife returns,
Her brother’s neck to clasp.
Oh! Brother dear! So great a shame!
To send me from these five!
The bey refrains, says not a word,
but from a silken pouch
draws forth her papers of divorce
to claim her portion full
and take her to their mother’s home.
Once she the writ has read,
both boys’ brows the dame embraces,
both daughters’ rosy cheeks:
but from her little babe abed,
she cannot bear to part,
so that her brother grips her arm
to strip her from her son,
and draws her high onto his horse,
to hie to their white halls.
At home she tarries for a while,
less than a week, ‘tis sure,
this gentle dame of gentle kin,
whose gentle hand none seek
more hotly than Imotski’s judge.
She begs her brother dear:
Oh, brother dear, from harm be free!
Pray, troth my hand to none,
lest my poor heart should break to see
my poor abandoned sons.
Alas, the bey pays her less heed
than to Imotski’s judge.
The dame her brother then entreats:
On paper white inscribe
a screed for the Imotski judge:
“Fair greetings from your bride
who fairly writes to pray of thee,
the wedding band once called
let them her bring a mantle tall
to pass the Aga’s halls
and see not her poor orphan sons.”
White screed in hand, at once
the Qadi calls the wedding band
to send them for his bride.
The band finds bride and welcome fair,
and heartily hie home.
But as they pass the Aga’s halls,
two maids out windows peer,
two sons hie out to meet their dam,
to beg their mother dear.
Come back with us, o mother dear,t
o eat of what we have.
The aga’s wife attends and begs
the leader of the band:
By God, O leader of this band,
our steeds halt by this hall,
that I may gift my orphans here.
Their steeds they duly halt,
that she may gift each child fair gifts.
Each boy gold-threaded boots,
each girl a coat down to the ground;
while for the cradled babe,
she sends but poor and humble robes.
Gallant Hasan-aga,
looking on, now commands his sons:
Come, my poor orphaned boys,
no mercy has your dam for you,
in her Hagaric heart.
When Hasan-aga’s wife hears this,
white-faced, she falls to earth.
Her soul departs in grief, her gaze
on her poor orphaned sons.
